


Beyond my Reach

by Lizzen



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Masturbation, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: As the force bond lingers, Rey and Kylo Ren circle each other on a different playing field. Their strange intimacy grows into a dangerous game.Set after "The Last Jedi"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to th_esaurus and to k&m&c

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It’s nearly a month after Crait before Rey has the time as well as the time alone to herself. 

Nearly a month of close quarters and alternating between sharing the beds and sharing bits of floor. Now that they’re in Naboo, everyone is two to a room; a wartime luxury. She shares with the General, who is more often than not in meetings. It’s like the woman never sleeps. And when she does, she tosses and turns from bad dreams. 

But no, in this moment, Rey is alone and knows the General won’t be back for hours. She can do this, and take her time with it. Breathing out slowly, she gets her hand between her legs and sighs again to find herself wet. This was something she did daily on Jakku, not much else to do for pleasure and surely she was not going to let anyone else do this for her. On Ahch-To, of course, it was too dangerous to touch herself; he might know. He might see.

The thought of him immediately does something to her, unbidden and unwanted, and yet her fingers move faster against the wetness between her. A groan escapes her lips, and the sound seems to linger in the room. With a touch of helplessness, she gives into it because it’s safe to do so. The bond is broken as it no longer has a purpose; Snoke’s trap is long sprung. No one need know this, no one will ever know.

She imagines his hand on her ankle first, a warm touch that lights a fire in her blood. She sighs again, and closes her eyes. He would settle between her legs, his fingers sliding along her skin till a few brushed against her sex. A tease of sorts, taking the temperature, before doing what he does best: impulsive action. Sometimes and often violent in nature. Two fingers breach her with little gentleness, but she’s so wet that they slide right in. She imagines how he lingers there, scissoring his fingers briefly to stretch her further. And then his thumb finds her clit, presses in hard before a kinder familiar rub. Rey is feeling her own fingers now, a constant rhythm against sensitive skin. His fingers fuck her not too slow but just enough that she feels full with him in every thrust. Her head leans back against the pillow, a small arch in her back as the fantasy deepens, overwhelms. Suddenly his form is against her form, his body pressed against her skin, and his sex hard against her thigh. She’s gasping now, and he’s whispering something in the shell of her ear. Something like, something like-- and the words crystalize in her brain: “come with me,” she hears, and his fingers seems to twist inside of her. 

And when she comes, she can hear him breathing hard; in and out and in and out. She chuckles at this. Chuckles at making him this way. She’s sweating now, and with her spare hand, she pulls off the covers and her eyes open. 

Her eyes open and she sees him. He’s in the room, at the foot of her bed, watching her with a strained face and slightly opened mouth. 

They stare for a moment that seems to last forever, and her mind is a blank. Adrenaline is still riding high through her system, and her fingers are still at her sex; an obvious thing. She breathes out something she’s been holding, and considers her options. 

There’s an aching bitterness in her heart, something she knows that she’ll never recover from, but the body, oh how it betrays. There’s an extra flutter inside of the walls of her sex, a demand for more. So, she props up on an elbow, just a little, keeps her gaze fixed on his eyes, and her fingers continue with the very act she was previously engaged in.

She can see him shiver; no, she can _feel_ him shiver. His anger, vast, is stunted at this scene before him. This child emperor brought to a momentary ruin by a woman with her hand between her legs, thinking of his mouth on her--

Rey gasps out, having forgotten the thread of fantasy, and projects it, now, as loud and as brutally as she can. Makes him see what she sees, him worshiping her body with his lips now, tongue and teeth. She imagines herself pulling on his hair as he kisses her down low. Rey has no good idea how this part of pleasure works, but she imagines it’s a stranger and better act with a mouth instead of fingers. How she would ride him, bucking her hips against him. Ensure that his actions were causing her reactions, and each one more and more blissful.

Breathing hard now, she continues to barrage her clit with a forceful hand and she continues to stare at his increasingly pale face. She can feel that he’s never seen this, never known a woman before. Never known a woman’s desires. This is all new and horrible and she sense, oh, she can sense how his dick is hardening despite his will against it. How he longs to lean against something, have his weight supported by something sturdy and real. But no, he must stand and take this, and this this, and take--

She can feel her pleasure rising, and decides to make everything worse by saying: “I love your mouth,” are the words whispered in the dark, and he openly shudders. “Keep fucking me with it,” she says and takes a moment to rolls her eyes back, a performative measure to illicit a response. He groans out now, and her body writhes at the sound. “Harder than that,” she says and her eyes meet his. It’s easy to see how he’s feeling now, there’s no mask on his face and he’s not holding back in the Force. His feelings are quite apparent. “I’m not made of glass,” she says, “fuck me harder.” And his eyes close, unable to hold her gaze. 

Which is just as well, all she can see now is white.

Her orgasm rips through her like an unquenchable fire, and the Force is near crackling in the air of the room. She bites down hard on her lip to keep any name from shrieking out of her mouth, and any hollering cry to alert neighbors in the nearby rooms. But by all that is good, she feels lit up so bright; a radiating heat that fills the whole galaxy with her desires so uniquely met. Gaspsing, she pulls her fingers away from her recovering sex, gets up on both elbows now. Lifts her eyebrows.

He blinks and his mouth opens again, and a gasp of his own comes out. He’s trembling still, and she can sense his overwhelming shame at his reactions; that he is not an immovable force, that he is weak for her. So very, very weak. 

As her lips curve up into a cruel smile, she considers that if she was his dark queen, oh, how their days would be full of this, this act but real, and with flesh against flesh. The thought is mirrored inside of him, and she breathes in. She is his distraction, and there is power in that. 

“Next time,” she says, and he flinches. “Think about touching me next time.” And she wipes her wet fingers against her bare leg before rolling over and pulling the covers over her. “Good night,” she says and her eyes close.

She feels his appearance vanish immediately, but his presence lingers until she falls asleep. 

 

 

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After that, she begins to build a wall in her mind against him; brick by brick, layer by layer, of a warding shield against him. She is mindful of her emotions, having now realized that the bond gripped them together in moments of vulnerability or depression. 

After that, she begins to spend her days working as harder than ever to defeat the First Order; work, eat, sleep. Getting on the comms to state her intentions, showing potential allies what she can do, and performing miracles as needed for the cause. 

After that, she knows that he will try for a kind of revenge and she must be ready for it. 

 

 

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The moment she feels the glimmer of his presence, she lifts her hand. It’s untoward, of course, but the situation calls for it. She can apologize later. “Get out,” she says with the underlying power of the Force resonating in the room. The techs present scatter, leaving her alone. She walks carefully to the door, and twist the lock. Breathes in, squares her shoulders, and turns around.

She’s in his room and he’s - and she swallows - he’s naked. Rey keeps her eyes northward. “Took you long enough,” she says as droll as she can. 

“I can break anything you build,” he replies and she knows his hand is on his dick. There’s a touch of disgust in her before she gets a hold of her emotions. Takes a step forward.

“You didn’t welcome me here to talk shop,” she says, “You--”

And the flood of images sail into her mind’s eye; such explicit and shocking things. A series of compromising positions, the plaintive cry of her voice, the harsh bite of his teeth. It’s meant to destabilize her, but she’s ready for him. 

Her hands ball into fists as her mind focuses on his, and her thoughts merge with his own. And what he sees: Rey is wetting her fingers with spit, is bypassing his dick for the space behind it, is carefully circling his rim with her fingers. The Kylo Ren of her thoughts moans when it happens, cries out when her fingers make purchase, pressing inside of him. Her gaze sharpens and she can see him sweat. 

“Do you want more?” she says quietly, taking another step closer. He looks at her with something like hate. In her thoughts, she shoves her fingers in that tightness harder. He gasps out. 

She’s close enough to touch, but she wouldn’t dare. Not at this point. She does, however, take a good look at him; his fist around his gnarled sex, and it jerks once as if her gaze penetrates. Rey’s never seen an aroused dick before and her interest is, she hopes, healthy. Her eyes flick back up to his and there’s a hunger now in his gaze. She gives him something of a supportive nod and his hand begins to stroke in earnest. 

Now, she thinks of him on his back, somewhat uncomfortable for him as she gets more than three fingers deep inside of him. Fucks in with a lazy sort of rhythm as he lets out sigh after sigh after sigh. In the quiet of reality, he glares at her for this but keeps up his work on his dick. She allows him one of his own thoughts to emerge out of the space in which she has compressed them, buried them from view: Rey straddling him with her legs around his hips and her mouth so close to his. 

“Is this what you want?” she says and allows this fantasy of Rey to grind up against him and mewl out something desperate sounding. And he just speeds up his efforts below. She alternates the visions; her sex grinding inertly against his own and her fingers fucking him into the mattress. 

He tries, on occasion, to adjust the fantasy but her will is stronger. 

It’s messy when he comes. She wonders if he’s not used to coming this hard, how his dick pulsates in his hand without reason. Her nose wrinkles when he looks up at her, his emotional state raw and horribly shamed. “Again,” she says but he shakes his head. 

“Can’t,” he wheezes out. And she imagines reaching out to touch his dick now, almost fully spent. He flinches hard, and shies away from her despite the fact that she’s not moved a muscle. He looks wrecked, a sheen of sweat on him and he’s still a mess below. A lost boy in the stars. 

At her full height, she look down on him and wishes to flex her power, wishes to make him--

And something breaks in her shield as his thoughts raid into her mind. Nothing offensive this time, nothing disturbing. Nothing but the thought of her lips crashing against his own, of her mouth devouring him. She kisses the way she fights, to brutally vanquish her opponent. And he does not show her any mercy of course, that is not his nature. With all his might, he kisses her back with lips and tongue and teeth and sighs until they’re both gasping and pink cheeked and lips swollen. 

Her mouth opens and air comes out slowly. This, this is unfortunate, she thinks. Because his thought perfectly mirrors her own. 

But when a touch of triumph colors his expression, she impulsively reaches out and cups his face. The touch is electric; her phantom skin against his. They both shudder as one, and Rey feels a heat rise in her. “You’re a fool,” she says, “You--”

“I’m done with you now,” he says tersely, snaps his fingers, and she’s back on the base. 

Her arm is still outstretched. She lowers it to her side. “I’m not done with you,” she whispers into the air. Squeezes her legs together and wipes her mouth from the kisses that never happened. 

 

 

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	2. Chapter 2

Rey always thought she wasn’t one to play with fire, but she does, now, and on every possible occasion, find herself aroused in her bed when alone, and playing mercilessly at her sex. She goes through every fantasy she has, and begins to pepper them with his awful ones. Sees herself on all fours, sees herself choke down his dick, sees herself unable to breathe from the force of his thrusts, sees herself bruised from the clench of his hand. And worse. She ticks through each until her sex is raw.

And she never feels his presence. Not even a glimmer. No matter how dark she goes.

 

 

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She’s on a mission alone in Nar Shadda when a chrome-colored trooper appears in the periphery of her vision and she realizes something’s gone pear-shaped. Turning around to trace her steps, she’s face to face with him. It’s sudden, to have him completely in her view. Nothing else, but his shape and form and inscrutable face.

Rey fights the urge to roll her eyes, and tells him, “not now,” until he reaches out and grips her wrist.

It’s as electric as before, even more so. Because it’s his hand. His real hand. She recoils as if burnt but his grip is like a vise, pulls her closer. “How--” are the words out of her mouth before she finds her steel and reaches for her saber.

“In a public place?” he says. “Are you that desperate for attention?”

“Are you that afraid of death?” she replies. He’s inches from her mouth and she knows it. Breathes in and feels how her body softens in places; a wretched betrayal. But she also knows what she’s doing to him. He’s swaying a little, and it brings her some relief. “The Hutts won’t blink an eye if the First Order’s Supreme Leader lights up his _stick_ in their marketplace.”

“Do you want to be made a martyr of the Resistance?” he asks. “I kill you here, in this place, today, and you’re deified tomorrow. Not good for me,” he replies neatly, and tugs her even closer. “You’re coming with me.”

She feels it right down to her toes as his lips grow near, and everything in her body seems to clench in anticipation. Her free hand rises, however, and slaps him right across the face.

It is enough of a shock that his grip loosens and she pulls away, lights up her saber with a fierce snaphiss. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she says, “But _I_ kill you here, in this place, today. And no one will mourn you.”

He stares at her for a long time before reaching for his weapon.

The markets of Nar Shadda are not adverse to violence, and can easily get out of its way. She finds there is plenty of space to block and parry, her feet shifting here and there on the sandy soil. The lights of their sabers clash and alight the eyes of every voyeur and mildly interested person who skirts the skirmish.

He fights her with a certain strength and she’s meeting it, if not exceeding it, with every blow. When she knocks his saber out of his hand, and pulls it through the Force into her own, he glares at her. But not with fear. And he waves away his troops who hoist their weapons, aiming at her skull.

Opening his arms, he circles her until she throws him his weapon. And the idea fills her mind like the dawn in a horizon. She tilts her head and projects the thought of them against the nearby alley wall, and her mouth at his dick. He nearly trips over his feet at the image, and she slashes viciously at him. Continues the shower of salacious thoughts and a series of strikes with her saber. He falls to his knees and she stands over him, sabers pressed together over his head and she leans in close. Lets him smell her and her nose slides along his cheek. “You’re a fool” she whispers and then batters him with the most ferocious thrust of her saber’s hilt against his head.

Splayed on the ground, he groans for half a moment before leaping to his feet, facing off with her. His eyes narrow and she sees it coming -- the bombardment of his uninteresting horror show of male fantasies that disinterest her fully. She immediately thinks of getting him on all fours and pegging him with something mercilessly hard and he makes the sweetest of surprised gasps.

It’s an odd way to battle, she is sure of it, but the missteps and bad moves he makes are worth the trouble. This incredible dance of feet and arms and thoughts; a kaleidoscope of action. She could win this, she could end this today. If she can just continue to be--

There’s a dirt wall at her back and she’s unsure how it was that he drove their fight here, to the alley, away from the crowd and the troopers. She can’t see the white in her periphery anymore. He drove them here for a reason, he--

Their sabers are pressed together again, and over their heads as he pushed forward, pushes against her. She feels that unsteadiness in her knees again and curses it, curses him. “You’re the fool,” he says and he pushes forward to-- to-- and she realizes, to kiss her.

Rey gasps and feels a hunger race through her blood, a desire unnatural for this. A longing for this. A tingle in her skin matches a numbness in her knees.

And with a strange violence, she shoves him away from her, staggers for a step, and begins a violent streak of blows against him until he’s on his knees before her. If she’s being honest, she’s feeling the dark side flow freely through her but she doesn’t care. His free hand touches the back of her knee and she almost topples over. Instead, she gives him such a blow to the head, that he falls in the dirt, face down and doesn’t get back up.

She considers, she really does consider raising up her sword and bringing it down hard against his prone form. It would be so easy.

But no. There’s troopers to deal with now.

After the firefight, she returns to the alley to find him gone, the impression of his body in the dirt and a trooper’s footsteps. She remembers, vaguely, the chrome trooper slipping out of view.

Shame, she thinks, and lets out the breath she’s been holding.

 

 

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She bypasses everyone on her way to the General and makes her report, short and bitter, in an empty room. There’s a regret inside of her that is eating away at her heart; deep and destabilizing.

“He did something,” the General says quietly and Rey looks away.

“I didn’t let him.”

 

 

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Rey closes the bedroom door, leans against it. She can still hear Finn and Poe’s laughter as they walk down the hall to their room, and an absent smile grows on her face. They’re getting close, closer, and in the normal way that lovers do, she supposes. She’s happy for them, yes, but something deep inside of her aches.

Going through the motions, she gets ready for bed and tries to drain her mind of anything and everything. Wills herself to be an empty shell, ready for the oblivion of sleep. She does a few stretches and then clambers into her bed, rolls over, and closes her eyes.

Time ticks on and sleep evades her completely. And that’s when her mind wanders, and into the most unkind territory. She thinks of his lips first, then the shape of his eyes, the smell of him too. There’s the curve in his neck and the firmness of his hip. The speed and force of him. And an incurable softness too, buried deep and even more terrible than his untempered violence.

Steeling herself, she rolls onto her back, looks up at the ceiling. Her hands are to her side, fingers spread out as if to hold herself carefully. “Where are you now?” she asks into the air.

“Here,” he says softly, and she doesn’t even turn her head. Knows he’s next to her, lying in the bed with his fingers next to hers. Not quite touching. There’s no physical warmth emanating from him through the Force, but she feels her body temperature rise.

“You’re here,” she echoes and she shivers openly; hates herself for it. Wishes she was stronger than this.

They’re silent for some time, just listening to the other breathe in the air.

“This could have been so much easier, you know,” he says at last, and it’s not exactly bitter.

She nods her head, still staring at the ceiling but imagining the look in his eyes to match his voice. “I was tempted, I admit.”

“You could still--”

The words escape her mouth so fast: “You don’t know me at all if you think I’d actually do it.” Be his dark queen, she thinks.

Rey can hear him swallow and he takes his time before: “I thought that you--”

“I did,” she says, answering the unfinished statement all too quickly. “And sometimes,” she says as quietly as she can. “I still do.”

Something hitches in his breath, as if she had pushed down hard on a bruise. Pushed until he couldn’t bear it. A brutal intimacy. Bracing herself, she turns her head to look at him. An expanse of naked skin and waves of black hair; his eyes locked on hers. Something inside of her softens, and she resents it.

She senses the question before he asks it and her body trembles with the very thought. “I,” he says softly, his gaze steady, “I’d like to ask you something.” And when her eyebrow raises, he adds: “Please.” And when she rolls back onto her back, just to avoid the look in his eyes, she notes that the question, the _request_ wasn’t voiced.

“Say it,” she says, an echo of what he always tells her. “Say it.”

“Could you-- could you touch yourself like before?” he asks. “Would you do that, for me?”

She breathes in and considers her options, considers him. And something deep down clenches tight. Turning her head, she looks at him, as brazenly as she can, and puts two fingers in her mouth. Sucks down hard before sliding them down between her legs. Once she makes purchase, she notes there was no need to lick her fingers; she’s a flooded mess and embarrassingly so.

When she sighs, he sighs too.

“Your turn,” she says, and listens to him follow suit, listens to him grunt when he gets his dick in his hand. She can feel his desire now in waves as he hardens, an overwhelming surge of want. Nearly takes her breath away. So, she says: “Now, go slow.” And when something like a whimper touches his lips, she adds: “with me.”

And she begins to circle her clit with her fingers, gently. An opening volley in pursuit of pleasure, and she feels him do the same at his tip, letting the pre-come cover his fingers. “That’s it,” she says, and presses deeper. He grips his dick and tugs a little, just enough to make him moan, and she feels the sound resonate inside of her. Feels the walls of her sex flutter.

That’s when she opens her mind fully and projects an image of his sex against hers, pressing hard against her wetness. He gapes, he gasps, and his hand grasps for her, but she moves out of the way. “No,” she says and continues the fantasy. Goes from position to position to position until she senses where his pleasure is piqued. And in her mind’s eye, she clenches him tight with her legs around his waist and rocks there.

His eyes rolls back in his head, and she sees him jerk himself faster. “Slower,” she orders, and hates how desperate she is to touch him. To stop him. But he slows and he--

Rey forgot this goes both ways, and is hit with the images and sensations and feelings of him kissing her neck, the skin below her ear, her jawline, and then--

She lets go, lets her hand nearly vibrate with the force of her push and pull against her clit, and joins his thoughts. Thinks of kissing his mouth; no, devouring it. Kissing him with such wild abandon that her gasps and sighs become moans, filling the room. And she imagines his taste, imagines how he’d fight her with tongue and teeth until she melted against him. With a final swipe, she’s done in and her mouth opens with no sound coming out. It’s a simple enough orgasm that she’s able to channel it, slam the feeling into him with a fierce force and watch as his body shakes.

It’s easy then to project the image of her positioning herself just right, getting the tip of his dick at her entrance, and then pushing down on top of him till she’s filled to the brim. He groans out at this and she sees his hand at his dick quicken the pace.

His eyes blink once but his gaze remains steady on her. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he says and she can feel every inch, every cell of his feelings for her.

And she lifts her chin up. “Shut up and let me fuck you.”

The fantasy is simple; her riding him without mercy, her grip hard at his shoulders and his thrusts meeting her as her hips move against him. But she’s listening to the sound of skin against wet skin, to the sounds of their hands at their sex to find relief under the barrage of thought. She’s listening to his groans and unintelligible words and the spaces of silence when his mouth is open and his mind screams her name.

And her entire body shakes with want.

She misses it by seconds, so distracted by her own needs that she can’t stop him. He’s shuddering without control, his dick pulsating and come spilling into his hand. And a mess of feeling radiates from him, brutally smashing inside of her and filling her with an ache that will never be satisfied. She feels nauseous from it and has to stop, pull her hand away from her sex and push away from him, gasping.

They stare at each other; him, what she would consider a chaotic wreck, and her, what she would consider lost in feelings that aren’t her own, aren’t quite a match with her own.

He would swallow me up, she thinks. And there would be nothing left.

She can sense him coming out of his own thoughts, his own covetous pleasure, and he immediately hits her with a series of images, of positions, of delights. And she leans back heavily in the bed, unable to quite deal with it. He’s landing on being an echo of her fantasy, his mouth at her sex, working wonders.

Her hand returns to her sex and she fucks in a few fingers with her thumb at her clit, and she’s angry when she comes like this. Angry to be an easy mark, angry with how much she wants him. “I love your mouth,” she echoes, this time sullen.

“I love you,” he says and her heart seems to stop. All she can hear is a loud ringing in her ears and her skin hurts as if she’s been stunned. She breathes hard for a moment, lost in the words and in the plaintive look in his eyes.

“Don’t you understand that I’m going to kill you?” she says, her voice breaking. “You know that?”

He shrugs. “Maybe I kill you.”

Her hands are fists. “Then why--”

“I love you,” he repeats. “And you love me. You almost said it earlier.” She sets her jaw, remembers that Ben Solo was once a frightened child who thought he was alone.

Then: “Take my hand,” Kylo Ren says, with emphasis on each word. “Please.” It’s so soft, it’s all so soft. And his hand reaches for her through the Force.

She stares at him long and sure. Imagines the grandeur, the peace; imagines the pain, the pleasure. Imagines knowing her place in all of this. Imagines never being lonely again despite the cost. Imagines a kind of happiness. There’s a sudden speed to her heartbeat, and she feels like she’s suffocating, desperate for air. It would be the easiest thing in the world to submit. And her mouth opens and an order comes out: “Get out of my bed.”

 

 

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When she faces him again, it’s been month since -- since they saw each other. Her shields are stronger now, resilient against him no matter how hard he batters against them. His mouth opens and words scream out to make her understand. _Listen to me_ , she hears slip through her guards and she shakes her head, viciously.

The blows of her saber are powerful, and he can’t keep up. She’s slashed him in the shoulder, his hip. And in moments, she’s disarmed him, cut his lightsaber in half, so violent is her rage. There’s a clash, and with the Force, he’s loosened her grip; her own lightsaber sails away from them. She could call for it, of course, but instead they fight hand to hand, a brutal affair, till he’s down on the ground, her body on top of him, straddling him with her legs. His face is a growing bruise, a bloody mess. He’s gasping for air, and that’s when she notices that her hands are around his neck, squeezing hard. _Please_ is what she hears next; a word she knows means everything when he says it. Means more than anything when he says it.

Her grip lessens and she opens her mind to him, curious and assuming he’s in chaos. But no, there’s a singular thought in his mind: one desire, one hope.

 _Do it,_ he thinks and her body recoils, her hands leaving his neck to become fists at her side. His body shakes, and she can feel him hardening underneath her. _I’m ready,_ he thinks.

It would be so easy; ending him. Hands returning to his neck and clutching tight with all her might. She could do it with the Force, but it would be so much better with her own hands. Skin against his. The sound of twigs breaking in her ears and the dead eyes that would look at her. It’s the right thing to do, she thinks, she knows. End it, end it here, end it now.

And that’s when her heart shifts.

\---


End file.
